


Home: The Ending

by EinahSirro



Series: How King Thorin Got a Slave [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Advice, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Possessive Thorin, Resolution, Still not a healthy relationship, Stockholm Syndrome probably, a little smut, soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EinahSirro/pseuds/EinahSirro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo must decide whether to go back to Thorin or move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late Night with Legolas

It was midnight in Mirkwood, and quiet. In the Royal Chambers, the moon shone in the windows and cast a bright light on the large bed with its velvet hangings. They were green, but in the darkness looked almost black. Bilbo lay curled, having slept like one dead for hours, and now he drifted up from unconsciousness and stared for a moment at the white, oblong rectangles cast across the smooth stone floor.

Confused, he straightened and rolled onto his back, and was startled to find that Legolas was stretched out a few feet away from him, fully dressed, his hands folded gracefully over his midsection. On his back with his white-blond hair flowing down, the Elf looked like a stone carving of a dead Prince, or a painting of some other-wordly creature under a magic spell.

The Hobbit snuffled a bit and felt immediately guilty. He’d taken the poor fellow’s bed all afternoon and now… now he should really get back to his own rooms. If he could find them. Stiff and groggy, he rubbed his face and prepared to heave himself out of the bed.

Almost soundlessly, Legolas transitioned from sleep to awake. “Are you alright,” he asked quietly.

“Mmp. Yes. I’m so sorry, “ Bilbo mumbled. “I didn’t mean to take your bed all night. Very kind of you. I’ll just—“ but he was dizzy the way one is when they were deep asleep and awakened suddenly. His head felt heavy.

The Elf reached one cool hand over and rested it on Bilbo’s for a moment. “Stay. You are no bother.”

Bilbo subsided, and Legolas drew his hand back again and resumed his self-contained posture.

The Hobbit sighed. “How did the rest of the Council go?” he asked.

“Very well. I think there have been several helpful suggestions, such as altering trade routes and scheduling them so that larger parties are traveling together.”

“You need an army,” Bilbo said, still half-asleep.

Legolas was staring out toward the foot of his bed. “Yes. That has also been acknowledged. An army formed from volunteers of all kingdoms. We’ll be looking at the budget tomorrow.”

Suddenly Bilbo was awake. “Will they need to hear from me again?”

“It would be welcome, but if you are anxious to be done with this, your wishes will be respected,” the Prince told him seriously.

Bilbo was quiet. He was so unaccustomed to having his wishes respected, it made him uncertain what his wishes were. Frankly, at this point, he was far more comfortable finding ways to live with the demands of others. Even in the Shire, he had usually felt pressured to give way before the needs (or wants) of his relatives and neighbors. Asserting his will was foreign; survival was more his specialty.

“Why did you travel so much?” Legolas asked suddenly, and Bilbo mused that it was uncanny the way the Elves always knew how to ask a question that would make him think of things in a whole new way.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Were you looking for something, or running away from something?” The Elf persisted.

Bilbo concentrated, remembering his mood as he walked along the northern path, his walking stick in hand, and his bedroll on his back.

“I… I don’t think it was either, exactly. I felt alive when I was traveling. Just walking along somewhere unfamiliar was … I could feel every beat of my heart, every breath, every footstep mattered.”

Legolas turned his head on the pillow to regard the Hobbit. “That’s how I feel when I’m fighting,” he said.

“I would feel like I was just waiting for the next thing to happen. At the Shire, nothing happened. I didn’t seem to have plans… there was nothing I wanted, or I already had everything I wanted. So. I guess I was more looking for something than running away.”

Legolas looked up at the velvet hangings over his bed. “I am like this too. I will never be King, and it is for the best, because I do not want to create things. I want to respond to things: an opponent’s move, a significant challenge…”

“Yes, exactly,” Bilbo said. They were silent again. Then he said, “Your father likes to organize things.”

Legolas grinned. “This may be an understatement.”

They both chuckled softly.

Then Bilbo sobered. “Thorin likes to acquire things.”

The Elf nodded. “To have been raised to be a king and to know daily it was taken from you would be very difficult for … someone who likes to acquire things.”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I mean, I don’t think he wants to keep accumulating to an extreme. He’s good at making certain the kingdom runs to the benefit of his people. But… certain things will set him off.”

“Gold,” Legolas said.

“Yes… and… uhm… certain kinds of affection.”

Legolas unexpectedly burst out laughing. “You put that very carefully!”

Bilbo was grinning too. “Yes. Well.”

They lay a moment longer, amused, and then the Prince said, “He should be fat.”

The Hobbit nearly fell off the bed laughing. “You’re right! He should! He is just the type that should gobble down food the same way he devours everything else, but he doesn’t.”

They lay with wide smiles, contemplating the variety of personalities in Middle Earth.

Bilbo turned to the Elf. “What type do you think Bofur is?”

Legolas sobered. “He … I think he wants to protect. I think he wants to serve some useful purpose.”

The Hobbit nodded. That sounded right. He looked around. “Is there any water?”

The Prince sat up and reached to a table on the far side of the bed, poured water from a silver pitcher into a cup, and passed it over. Bilbo drank it gratefully. “Thank you. Now, I… I think I…. would it be bad manners to roam around? I wouldn’t leave the palace or go out into Mirkwood. I just…. I’m awake now, and…”

Legolas sat looking at him for a moment, head tipped thoughtfully. Then he said, “Thorin’s room is at the far end of the hall that your own room is on. On the left.”

Bilbo’s heart sped up instantly. “Am I ridiculous?” He asked timidly.

The Elf looked puzzled. “No. Why?”

The Halfling shook his head. “I just… I know I should just go back to the Shire, forget all this, just settle down and be like the rest of the Hobbits.” Even as he said it—

Legolas shook his head, smiling sympathetically. “And I should stop roaming every chance I get, looking for battles. And Tauriel should have stayed with us. And Kili should find one of his own. And Thorin should leave you alone. And Bofur should find someone safer to admire, and my father should stop lusting after diamonds, and—“ he gestured vaguely, “—Gandalf should have that hat cleaned.”

They both laughed again, quietly.

“So, no one is doing what they should do, are they?” Bilbo asked.

“Well, King Elrond, maybe. But I have a feeling that there are stories from his distant past that would make us unable to keep a straight face every time we saw him, if only we knew them.” Legolas pronounced confidently, and lay back down on his bed. “Now. You are free to do as you like, Bilbo. I do recommend not going out amongst the trees. There’s still the occasional spider big enough to spin you into a bundle and suck you dry.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo drily, slipping down from the bed, “I know him well.”

Legolas laughed so hard he had to put his hand over his mouth. “Oh—“ was all he managed. Bilbo gave him a wicked grin and waited till he’d recovered. The Elf finally wiped the tears from his eyes and took a deep breath, turning his head to give the Hobbit an affectionate look. “You are an unusual fellow,” he said at last, still smiling.

“Yes. Well. I want to thank you for how much you’ve helped me over the last weeks. I feel… I feel different now. I mean… I still feel confused sometimes, and I suspect that I’ll always run after things that are dangerous to me. But you, and Elrond, and Bofur, have made me feel like I’m not alone. For the first time in years. I guess now what I’m rather afraid of is that… if I go back to Thorin, you’ll all give up on me in disgust.”

Legolas sobered. “Ah. Well. As to that—“ he stared off into the distance for a moment. “We all have our weaknesses.” Then his eyes grew vague, and Bilbo knew that whatever weakness he was contemplating, he was not likely to refer to it.

“Well. Thank you,” Bilbo said again, and took one more refreshing drink before setting the empty cup on the side table. “I’m going to go and… see where my feet take me.”

The Elf re-focused and nodded, with a slight smile on his lips. “Good night, then, Master Baggins,” he said softly.

“Goodnight, Master Greenleaf,” Bilbo smiled back, and then he walked across the moonlit stone floor, slipped out into the corridor, and started walking briskly. It felt good to be moving.


	2. Repayment

The wide open arena of the Throne Room was spooky but beautiful in the moonlight. The heavy trees provided a great deal of cover, but beams of white still streamed down here and there, creating pale pools on the stone floor. Bilbo walked slowly between them, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He paused from time to time and gazed at them, and looked around. Then he stepped into a beam and looked up, seeing the bright, full moon. 

He wished he knew what to do. Go back to the Shire? Back to Rivendell? Back to Erebor? Really, his happiest time had been in the Blue Mountains with Thorin the Ironsmith. He sighed. There was no more Thorin the Ironsmith, he finally admitted to himself. Thorin the King wasn’t quite the same person. Was he?

But if he went back to the Shire, in two months he’d be wandering again, and who knows what mess he’d get into next, stumbling around with an aching heart, yearning for something that was lost? And if he went to Thorin (the King, he reminded himself) he ran the risk of being trapped and abused again. _You just roam around till someone scoops you up, don’t you?_ He asked himself. He shook his head with mild disgust. 

He started walking again, head down, debating with himself about greater evils and lesser evils and loneliness and … soon it was obvious where his feet were leading him. He rather wished Legolas hadn’t told him which room was Thorin’s. But now he was here, hungry to be held and squeezed and pinned under that warm, heavy weight.

Bilbo tapped gently on the door and waited for a few moments. There was no movement or response. Worried, he tapped again louder. This second attempt was more successful, for he heard a creak and a rustle, and a moment later, the door opened.

Thorin stared sleepily out at the Hobbit, a candle in his hand, his long hair in his face, and eyes blinking. When he focused on Bilbo, he perused him for a moment and then he reached out his hand and gently drew him in, closing the door behind him.

“Am I dreaming?” He breathed, still heavy-lidded, and set the candle on the nearest table. He wrapped his arms around Bilbo, who melted into them with relief. “Mm. No, I think not.”

Thorin picked the Halfling up and carried him to the bed, sinking into its warmth and cuddling his lover sleepily.

“Wait, let me—“ Bilbo sat up and struggled out of his jacket and pants, and Thorin waited patiently, and then cradled him again. Bilbo buried his nose in Thorin’s neck. They moved together in small, accommodating ways until they were fitted as they used to fit. Bilbo sighed again, but this time it was contentment. 

Thorin moved one hand lazily to Bilbo’s hair, stroking it. “Stay with me,” he mumbled.

“I am,” Bilbo assured him, hugging him tight. It felt so good to embrace that strong form and pull it to him once again.

“Always. Forever,” Thorin clarified softly.

Bilbo hesitated. Thorin seemed to come completely awake now, and opened his eyes to look down at his Hobbit.

“Bilbo?” He asked. 

Bilbo licked his lips nervously, not sure what to say.

Thorin drew away a bit, his face very somber now. “Did you come to say goodbye?”

The Hobbit felt a bit of alarm in his chest. “No, no,” he said, and then managed, “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

The King sank back down and wrapped him up again. “Stay with me,” he instructed, squeezing tight, in that way he knew Bilbo liked.

Bilbo opened his mouth to say “I will,” but what came out was a hesitating, “I want to…” and the “but” was so clearly present in his tone, he didn’t even need to say it.

Thorin slipped one warm hand under Bilbo’s shirt and ran it slowly up the Hobbit’s smooth back, feeling the small, unconscious moves his lover made in response to the stroking.

“Be mine again,” he whispered into the pointed ear beneath the wispy curls.

“Don’t—“ Bilbo stammered, and Thorin held still, trying to guess what he was about to hear. He couldn’t.

“Don’t… don’t make me promise.” The Hobbit finally managed to say, his voice a little muffled. His face was still hidden in the Dwarf’s chest, and he was almost afraid to pull back and look into that stern face.

And it was a little stern now. Brows lowering, Thorin gripped a bit tighter. “Don’t make you promise what?”

Bilbo felt like he was softening and melting in the heat from Thorin’s body, and the relief of being held again. But that was physical. Some small corner of his mind was still tense and alarmed.

“Don’t make me promise that I’ll never leave. Don’t make me promise that I’ll always obey.” Bilbo braved, and Thorin shook his head slightly to himself. Just as he’d suspected, he’d breached the walls too soon and now the little ingrate was mustering up the courage to start negotiations. Should have put him over the saddle and started galloping last night, he thought.

“Do that you think that is fair?” He managed, keeping himself under tight control. His possessive side was stirring restlessly, urging him to bring matters back in hand in the most sensual and invasive way he knew how. He bit his lip, feeling the blood rush to his groin. His body wanted very much to simply destroy any resistance and renew its claim. 

“Yes, because… because I don’t think you can promise never to hurt me again,” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin went a little cold, and his lustful urges calmed for a moment. “What?” He asked, disbelieving.

Bilbo said nothing. Thorin drew back, shifting them until their eyes could meet. “You think I have no control? You think I’m just going to lash out every time you—“

“Every time I disobey? Well… yes. I mean… I don’t want to disobey you ever again. Not ever. But I can’t promise. I can’t promise to obey and I can’t promise that if I disobey and you get that angry again, that I’ll just stay and take whatever you want to dish out.” Suddenly Bilbo had found his tongue. “I want to be with you. I do want it, I was never so happy in my life as when we were together in the Blue Mountains. I was even fairly happy in Erebor when you were going mad and wrapping me up in gold at night. I was even… when we returned, I was certain that we would be happy again… well, fairly certain… one day we would, when you weren’t angry anymore. But… but that day you…”

Thorin snatched the Hobbit back into his arms and squeezed him again. He didn’t want to talk about that day, ever. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh and kneaded it, turning his face to sniff his lover’s hair. He wedged one strong leg between Bilbo’s, saying with his body all the things he couldn’t with his voice.

Finally, he said, “If you come back with me, I will NOT let you run away again.” He hated himself for his honesty, didn’t even know why he said it. Foolish to warn your prey, but there it was. 

He felt a tremor run through the smaller body he held nearly crushed to his. “And if I don’t come back with you?” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin felt himself grow warm and sensuous again. He played with the curls around the soft neck. “I’ll get you anyway, somehow. Thranduil would help, for a few baubles. And you know how good he is at arranging things.”

Bilbo felt that familiar lethargy stealing through his veins. “So, you are saying—“

“I’m saying that you are coming back to Erebor, you’re going to be mine forever, and I will be your king and your master and your lover, and you’d better learn to enjoy it again,” Thorin said, and his voice was oddly soothing and soft given what things he was saying.

The Hobbit put his cool nose into the hollow beneath his King’s ear. “What gives you the right to do this?” He asked rhetorically, feeling the thick leg between his press up higher.

“I’m the King of Erebor,” Thorin informed him, running a large hand down over the round buttocks and giving one a tight squeeze.

“And I’m just a little Hobbit from the Shire,” Bilbo said, kissing Thorin’s neck, letting his cheek rest on the silky dark hair tumbling down over his shoulders.

Suddenly, Thorin rolled Bilbo over onto his back and pinned his wrists up by his head. “I need you.” He said seriously, eyes open and intent, staring down at Bilbo. “I need you. I do. I can’t explain it. I… you have taken care of me. You cared for me and soothed me when I was going mad. You came to the Blue Mountains for me when I was too afraid and ashamed to even leave my home. You… you have been more to me than nearly anyone. My own family could not do more. I need you and you cannot leave me now.” He said this last with an air of demand. There was a pause.

“And in return, I got whipped.” Bilbo finally said.

Thorin released him and launched himself out of the bed, pacing about the room. “What do you want, then?” He asked, turning to face Bilbo again. “What revenge, what payment, what renumeration, what promise, what can I do? Do you want to … to hurt me in return?” His eyes were blazing.

Bilbo sat up slowly and then turned and tucked the pillows behind him so he could recline more comfortably. “No,” he said, thinking.

“What then?” Thorin stood at the end of the bed, tense but not angry, determined, but not hopeful… like Legolas in combat, like Bilbo on the road, he was at the moment when he felt most alive to the dangers of his situation. To keep what he’d acquired was his driving force, and now was the moment of truth.

Bilbo gazed up at him. “I don’t know. I want you to promise you’ll never punish me like that again, and you want me to promise never to disobey you or leave you again, and neither of us can promise unless the other does first.”

Thorin gazed over at the table where he’d piled his belongings when he’d stripped them off and gotten ready for bed. He went and stood there for a moment, looking down at the knife he usually kept tucked in his belt. Then he pushed his hair back over his shoulders, separated the braid on the right hand side from the rest and held it in one hand, taking his knife up with the other.

Bilbo got up on his knees in alarm. “Thorin…. Thorin, what—“

With one deliberate move, Thorin sliced off the braid just a finger’s breadth from the side of his head. The Hobbit’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open in shock. Thorin tied off the loose end with a string pulled from the end of his surviving braid. Then he returned to the bed, head high, and gave the braid to Bilbo.

The Hobbit took the offering dazedly, staring down at the silky rope for a moment, and then up at the impassive face. Thorin climbed onto the bed, dragged Bilbo back down, and lay on him again, placing one large hand on either side of his head and putting their foreheads together. “Now. You are coming home with me. You will be mine. You will be obedient. You will do as I say, or you’ll end up a mass of bruises and I’ll end up with no hair.” He said flatly. 

Bilbo let the braid lay on the bed, and wrapped his arms around the Dwarf King’s ribcage, pulling them tight together. “Yes. Alright,” he breathed, and Thorin began kissing him, long and deep, and soon they were fumbling each other out of their clothing.


	3. And In the Morning

In the morning, they helped each other dress. When they were nearly ready, Thorin took the severed braid and said, “Come.” 

Bilbo stepped up to him, and Thorin lifted him up and sat him on the table. Then he wrapped the braid around his Hobbit’s neck and, with scowling concentration, clipped beads onto the thicker end and wrapped and wove and tinkered until he’d clasped the two ends together in a cluster of blue and silver beads at Bilbo’s throat. It was very visible at his open collar, for the braid was not long enough to hang down and be hidden under the white shirt. It was almost a choker.

As Thorin worked at it, Bilbo lifted a gentle hand to the tuft of hair on the side of Thorin’s head where he’d cut the braid off. It was already curling and blending in rather well with his whiskers. The Hobbit smiled. Trust Thorin to chop off a chunk of hair and still look good.

When the necklace was completed, Thorin straightened and gazed down at his Halfling. His own hair was swept carelessly back, and he had not braided any new sections. 

“No matter how much I have to donate to Thranduil’s solution, we are leaving today,” He stated firmly.

Bilbo felt oddly at peace. “Yes, my king,” he said with a cheeky smile.

Thorin closed his big hands around Bilbo’s wrists and squeezed. “Tell me you like your new collar.”

Bilbo leaned his head on Thorin’s chest. “I love my new collar,” he whispered, blushing a bit. 

The king gloated over him, releasing his wrists to pick him up and carry him about the room with the Hobbit’s legs wrapped around his waist. “When we get home, I’m going to give you a good cleaning, inside and out, and then I’m going to give you a fucking you won’t forget.”

Bilbo was grinning but his face was pink. “Oh,” he said.

“You remember that device I got from Tauriel? I like that device. I like using it on you. I like watching it go in,” Thorin told him with a touch of evil in his smile. Bilbo was turning even redder but he managed to keep his chin up.

“You’re the master,” he said—that was a safe enough remark.

Thorin’s eyebrows arched with amusement. “Yes. Yes I am. Of course, if I abuse you now, every Dwarf, Human, and Elf in the region will be chasing me with torches and pitchforks.”

“Not Dwalin,” Bilbo reminded him, enjoying being carried around the room in no particular direction.

“Well, no. Not Dwalin. My only true friend,” Thorin sighed in mock sadness.

“I would love some tea,” Bilbo remarked, and Thorin turned and carried him to the door. 

“We should go to breakfast this way,” the king suggested, unwilling to put Bilbo down.

“Um, no,” Bilbo opined.

Giving one of his rare, sharp-featured grins, the Dwarf finally released his captive and arranged the collar of his shirt so it stood open. “I want others to see it. I don’t care if they despise me, I don’t care if they think we are both mad. I want them to know you are mine again, you are with me again, and we are leaving together, today, openly, side by side. And we will enter Erebor side by side tomorrow afternoon, do you understand?” Thorin was serious now.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, Thorin.”

“Good.” Said the king, and then opened the door and let Bilbo step out before him. But he kept his hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder possessively for a moment before finally relinquishing his hold, and they were able to walk down the corridors and to the breakfast tables with some semblance of decorum.

“And you’ll sit with me,” Thorin ordered, pointing toward a table where Legolas, Elrond, and Bofur seemed almost to be waiting for them. “Go, I will get you your tea.”

Bilbo complied contentedly, almost floating over to the table and sitting down with his friends. And they were his friends, he believed. They greeted him with a certain air of amused fatalism, as if they had suspected that he would soon be back in the web of a certain blue-eyed spider.

“Good morning,” Bilbo answered, face still pink from Thorin’s earlier promises and remarks.

Elrond regarded him for a moment and then said, “I have a feeling the Council will conclude today. Thranduil wants to convene after breakfast and has an agenda that may well be finished in time for lunch.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Bilbo said, turning to see Thorin coming with two cups of steaming tea. “Oh, thank you.”

There was an awkward silence, and then Thorin turned to Legolas. “So what shall you do when the Council has finished? Are you returning to Rivendell?”

“No,” Legolas said. “I have suggested to my father that we need to scout the edge of the Misty Mountains as far north as they go, and I have volunteered to undertake it myself.”

Everyone at the table stared at him. Bofur, in particular, looked ill.

“That will be dangerous,” observed King Elrond, with a mild contraction between his eyebrows.

“Oh, I suppose,” the blond Elf said carelessly. “I would prefer to go alone, since I would not like to expose anyone else to the danger. But my father says I should take someone with me. At least one other person.”

Bofur’s eyes widened with hope. He swallowed.

“But yes, it would be dangerous. We would be traveling alone together for weeks over rough terrain, and camping at night huddled in whatever crevice we could crawl into.”

Bilbo glanced over at Bofur to see how he was taking this.

Bofur was just opening his mouth to volunteer, but Legolas said, “You couldn’t keep up on a pony.”

The Dwarf shut his mouth again, eyes dropping to the table.

“I’d have to put you on my horse with me, which isn’t terribly dignified, so if you would rather not, I will understand.” Legolas finished with a slight smile.

Bofur drew in his breath, hope flaring up again. “Oh, I can manage,” was all he trusted himself to say.

“Good.” Said Legolas, taking a bit of tomato and putting it on a slice of toast. “Then it’s settled.”

Elrond and Bilbo looked at each other. Thorin was gazing at Bofur in some perplexity. “You want to go off on some suicide mission with an Elf?” He asked, not too politely.

Bilbo kicked him under the table and when Thorin turned to him, whispered, “Some folks just love the ears.”

The Dwarf King heaved a sigh and dug into his bacon. “Yes, thank you,” he said.

Legolas ate on, amused rather than insulted, and Bofur tried to eat too but he developed a bit of over-excited clumsiness and kept dropping his silverware. 

As Elrond predicted, the Council that met after breakfast was comprised of a cooperative bunch who were interested in moving to a swift conclusion. It was down now to haggling over who would contribute what, and Thorin paved the way with a generous offer. In fact, even Bilbo gasped when he named the sum. 

“I have brought it with me, in fact,” Thorin said coolly, accepting another cup of tea from the Elf hovering behind him.

The rest of the council turned to each other to discuss the sum, and debate what would be the equivalent offer from their own coffers, given that they did NOT have piles of gold stored away as Erebor did.

Bilbo leaned over to Thorin. “Did you really?”

“Yes,” Thorin murmured. “I knew I’d have to ransom you.”

“What? That’s not—“ Bilbo hesitated and looked over at Thranduil, who was smirking at them complacently. “Oh. Perhaps it is.”

“You may wager on it.” Thorin said, barely moving his lips. “You see how many different ways I am punished for my actions?”

Bilbo mulled that over. He supposed it was true enough. Weeks and weeks alone, traveling to Mirkwood, handing over yet more treasure to Thranduil… all of this was because of Bilbo. Had Bilbo not been attacked by Orcs, and had not Legolas been with him at the time, this Council might never have been convened. Truly, he felt a little uneasy at how wide-ranging were the consequences of his actions. Once again, he remembered his promise to himself, that once he got home, he would never stir again.

Now it seemed, he would be keeping that promise. But home was not where he’d thought it was.

Bilbo roused himself from his thoughts when he realized he’d been addressed with a question. Bard wanted to know, did Orcs ever travel alone?

“Um, no, I don’t think they do. I never saw one go anywhere alone… it’s odd. They don’t seem to have any affection for one another, but they have no interest in being alone either. They stick together always and fight regularly. The smallest party I ever saw leave the mountains was… five?”

The humans nodded and went back to their discourse. 

Bilbo sat back to see Thorin regarding him with some pride. It warmed him, that did, and his cheeks grew pink again.

Thorin gazed at those pink cheeks and put his hands flat on the table in a movement that Bilbo recognized. “I must leave now,” he announced suddenly. “There are pressing matters back in Erebor and I have been away too long. I shall leave Bofur to speak for me, and he can communicate with me by crow if necessary.”

Thorin stood with a bow and several of Dain’s men stood as well, preparing to depart with their king. Thranduil stood as well, clearly startled by Thorin’s abrupt announcement. “And your contribution…?”

Thorin gestured to one of Dain’s men, who exited with a companion to retrieve the leather-bound casket they’d secured in their rooms. It was big enough that it took two to carry.

“Are there any questions the Council would ask of Bilbo before we leave?” Thorin said clearly. Silence fell. 

Bilbo gave a chagrined little huff of a laugh, looking down at the table. _Oh, Thorin. Subtle will never be your middle name,_ he thought, affection mingling with embarrassment. 

“Oh… how long can those wargs travel?” Asked a Dwarf from Iron Hills.

Bilbo lifted his head. “They’re faster than horses but can’t go as long. They need a lot of meat to fuel them, and unlike horses, can’t just graze on grass,” he answered immediately.

“Can Orcs be bribed,” a Rivendell Elf asked.

“Yes, but always go for the leader of whatever pack you encounter. They rule by fear and no underling will risk getting his arm chopped off for a bit of gold,” Bilbo opined, surprised to find how much he remembered.

Dain’s men returned with the casket and presented it to Thranduil, and Thorin was forced to step away from Bilbo and pay some of the required services to courtly manner and etiquette. Behind him, he could hear the questions coming thick and fast now, and Bilbo’s decisive, often witty answers.

“Are they allergic to anything?”

“Soap.” (laughter) “No, but actually, now that I think of it, if you carried soapy water and could compress it into a tube and squirt it into their eyes, I suspect they’d go mad with pain. It’s a thought.”

“Do they eat any vegetables at all??”

“If they’re desperate, they will, but they prefer meat. Don’t care if it’s rotten, either.”

“What about poisons?”

“That would be difficult; their systems are pretty tough. Oh, and speaking of such, they sometimes dip their arrows in poison as well, so … be aware.”

When finally Thorin had satisfied Thranduil with his contribution (ransom, he thought drily), his thanks, and as many compliments as he could muster on the success of his council and the generosity of his hospitality, Thorin gathered Bilbo, who made his farewells, and they exited the Map Room.

“I’ll come with you to your room for your things,” Thorin said in a low voice. “Just in case.”

Bilbo chuckled and they went to gather the few changes of clothing and toiletries he’d brought. “Some of my things are still in Rivendell,” he said.

“We’ll send for them,” Thorin promised brusquely, herding Bilbo out of the room.

“That’s what you said about my things in the Shire,” Bilbo complained, and Thorin nodded impatiently.

“Yes, we’ll send for those too, if you like. China, vases, your mother’s quilt, all of it. Let us depart now.”

When they were ready and, with the Dain contingent, about to leave the palace grounds for the stables and ponies, Legolas and Bofur came out to meet them.

“We will be setting out as well when all this is finished. A week or so, I predict,” Legolas stated, and Bofur, who was back under the safety of his hat, gave Bilbo a look that was a cross between roguish merriment and true nervousness. Bilbo grinned at him.

“Good luck to us all, eh?” Bilbo said.

“Indeed. Until we meet again,” Legolas said with rather unaccustomed seriousness, and Bilbo sobered too. They all shook hands, and then Bilbo gave Bofur a quick hug. 

“Be careful,” he whispered.

Beyond him, Bilbo saw Elrond standing politely back, as if unwilling to intrude. Bilbo went to him and held out his hand. “You have done so much for me.” He said, gazing up at the wise, intense face. “How can I thank you?”

Elrond tipped his head and gave a slight smile. “May I keep one of your drawings?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Of course! Of course, more than one, which ever ones you like!”

Elrond gave a formal bow and said, “Then I shall.”

They squeezed hands for a moment, and then Elrond released him. “Remember, you are always welcome.” His eyes went to Thorin for a moment, and the Dwarf glanced back at him with very little warmth, understanding the nature of that remark. _If this dwarf abuses you again, you may come running to me._ Wonderful, thought Thorin with a touch of bitterness. But it lessened when he considered how Bilbo’s increasing status would help ease his way into the hearts of the Dwarfs of Erebor. To have a consort that was respected by all would help make up for the fact that he was not a Dwarf, Thorin hoped.

_It had better, because I am not giving him up,_ he vowed silently. And then they made their final farewells, and Thorin helped Bilbo up onto a pony, mounted another himself, and they began to make their way toward the main path leading through Mirkwood. Bilbo looked back one last time to see Legolas raise his hand, and Bilbo waved in return. He hoped they would meet again soon. And Bofur! But Bofur must be happy now, and one wants one’s friends to be happy. Bilbo gazed over his shoulder till they were out of sight, and then finally faced front again.

Thorin wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but frankly, he wouldn’t truly exhale till the gates of Erebor had closed behind him and Bilbo, and they were safely back inside.

As they plodded down the shady path, twilight even in mid-morning, Thorin glanced back often at his Hobbit. All he wanted in the world was to Get Him Home. And make up for his wrongs. And feed him, and caress him, and … tie him up (he admitted.) Just for a little while. Thorin smiled to himself. It was almost possible that his life was going to turn out alright after all. _Got Kingdom. Got Arkenstone. Got Bilbo. I swear to Mahal, if I can keep these three things, I’ll never ask for anything again,_ he thought.


	4. Conclusion

They emerged from Mirkwood quite late at night, and made camp on its edge. Sitting before the campfire on a little stool, the tent at his back, was uncannily like the night he’d left Erebor… how many weeks ago was it now? Bilbo wondered. Several.

But he was so changed. In fact, when he looked back over his life, he saw changes, and then changes again, and then again. Once he was a young Hobbit in search of adventure. Innocent, trusting, not terribly attentive to where he was going, more interested in the next apple tree than anything else.

And then he was a terrified slave of foul Orcs, abused, dirty, despairing. And then he was slave to the dragon, which wasn’t as bad in terms of violent abuse, but it was certainly a hungry, lonely time. He went from wondering if he’d be beaten to death to wondering if he’d merely starve to death. Or be burnt to a cinder in a moment of dragony temper. Bilbo tipped his head and decided that the Orcs had been worse than the dragon. Abuse and noise and the sheer ugliness of it all.

The dragon had at least talked to him sometimes. And Erebor had been a more attractive prison. Dark, but you know. Gold and gems everywhere. Nice architecture.

Bilbo smiled to himself, amused at his own thought processes. But then came Thorin, and the return of a civilized life. Bathing, clean sheets, hot tea with sugar in it. Food!! Warm hands touching him. Love-making. A relationship, of sorts. And he’d gradually gone from a slave to a lover to … yes, he’d been rather a caretaker to Thorin.

Then he was free and in the Shire. A homeowner again, more of an adult this time. Quieter. Thoughtful. A bit distracted. Responsible, though. Functioning.

And then he was an assistant shop-keeper, an equal to his lover, the ironsmith. Free. Happy. Busy.

Then he was…. Hurt. That business when they first returned, that was… Bilbo shook his head. He still didn’t like to remember it. The heartbreak. Then that fog, that exhausting, draining fog.

“Are you brooding,” Thorin asked, coming out of the tent to sit on a stool next to Bilbo.

“A bit,” Bilbo admitted, warming his hands by the fire. Quite a nice, big fire it was.

Thorin stirred restlessly for a moment, and then looked at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. “Have you forgiven me?” He asked unexpectedly.

Bilbo turned and gave him a rather stern look. “How can I forgive you when you have never apologized?”

Thorin looked startled for a moment, and then seemed to realize that he had never actually apologized, and therefore asking if he was forgiven might be considered a bit odd.

He turned back to the fire, and after a moment, said, “But you know that I regret it.”

Bilbo countered immediately, “I know you wish it hadn’t been necessary, but I think you still believe that it was indeed necessary.”

 _He’d certainly gotten his voice back,_ Thorin mused, a bit flustered. He stood. “Come to bed,” he said, and when Bilbo sat for a minute longer, staring into the fire and looking rather cross, he nudged the Hobbit’s shoulder. “Come,” he repeated.

Grumpily, Bilbo rose and preceded Thorin into the tent, where they made ready for bed in silence. Once in, however, the Dwarf scooped his lover up and molded him to fit the Royal frame. He squeezed until Bilbo relaxed, and then he rolled over, pulling the Hobbit on top of him. When Bilbo had finally settled, his face in Thorin’s hair, the king put his lips to the pointed ear.

“I am truly sorry that I beat you. Sorry that I hurt the one creature who has shown me more love than anyone. Sorry that I hurt someone who has already been through so much.” It was easier for Thorin to say this when they were pressed together in the dark. “Sorry that I hurt the one who has tried to save me and help me again and again. And I will make it up to you.”

Bilbo ran his hands up and down Thorin’s arms in response. His throat was a bit choked up, so he didn’t try to speak.

“And tomorrow morning,” Thorin continued whispering, “You’d better still be in my arms. Because I want us to enter those gates together, and greet my people, and your friends. And you’ll dine at the long table with my Company… you’ve never done that.”

“No, I haven’t,” Bilbo managed, blinking his eyes rapidly.

“Yes, so I’ll warn you now, Dwarfs like to throw food when they get excited.” Thorin said.

“What??” Bilbo lifted his head, astounded.

“Well, not like missiles. They expect you to catch it.” Thorin smiled in the darkness, and Bilbo shook his head and lay back down on him again.

“I consider myself warned, then,” he said. “Where will I sit?”

“Hm,” Thorin considered softly, stroking Bilbo’s bare back under his shirt, as was habitual with him. “As a consort, you should be at the far end of the table. But as a close and trusted friend, you would be at my side. Right or left.”

Bilbo thought about this. “I’ll be displacing someone no matter where I sit, won’t I?”

Thorin nodded. “Well… yes, but that is inevitable.”

“Could I… could I just sit half way down? Like there’s you, and then Balin, and then who usually sits next to Balin?”

“It varies. Fili could sit at the far end and Kili on my right, and Tauriel next to him…”

“I could sit next to Balin and across from Tauriel?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin squeezed him again. “If you like. Ori would be very happy on your other side.”

“But this is only for formal dinners and big occasions, right? We can still eat in our room most of the time?”

Thorin kissed him. “If you prefer. And on those days you can’t sit down easily, it would be best.”

Bilbo gave a shiver that was half embarrassment and half arousal. Thorin continued, “But as for that… your duties as my lover… I must be careful at first. It’s been many weeks since I’ve taken you properly, many, many weeks since I’ve handled you the way I’m yearning to.”

His hand slipped down and gave the round buttocks a warning pat and a few firm pinches. Bilbo gave a little moan and went completely limp, spreading his legs to grasp Thorin’s hips. “I’ll have to warm you up very slowly,” Thorin whispered, and began describing all the steps and procedures he intended to do when they were back in the Royal Chambers. Bilbo listened, pink faced and terribly aroused, as his king described the pains and pleasures and torments and indignities that awaited him when they were finally Home. And he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to wrap this up. It's taken longer to resolve than I thought it would, and yet it still feels abrupt. But I must get my head out of this world and back in the real one, before I float away. I hope this resolution doesn't bother anyone too much. Yes, Thorin is arrogant. No, he probably doesn't deserve Bilbo. But he's got him, and I think Bilbo wants to be wanted. That's... my take on it.


End file.
